Arrows in Flight
by whiteraven1606
Summary: Oliver's PTSD and everyone's reactions/attempts to help woven through the first season. (This is canon compliant for through the end of season one.)
1. Flight Path

Oliver had a mission. Sometimes it wasn't enough. It didn't stop the feelings or the flashbacks. He pushed his body trying to give himself some sort of peace, but that didn't help either.

Fighting with Diggle seemed to ease some of the tightness in his chest by making his head hurt more. Oliver watched Diggle shake his head again and this time it just _hit_ something in Oliver.

"I don't know. Okay?"

Diggle blinked, frowned, and cocked his head a tiny amount. "Know what, Oliver? Know that you are taking the stupidest risks when you don't need to?"

Oliver forced himself not to get up, not to just _move_ and find safety. Peace and safety he hadn't had...wouldn't have again. "I'm...not talking about the risks."

Diggle rolled his eyes. "No, of course, you aren't. You think that you are, what, invincible?"

Oliver pulled his shirt off. He was too hot and it was too soft against his skin. He balled up the shirt and threw it across the room. "I'm not stupid, Diggs, and that's not what I meant."

Diggle frowned. "What did you mean?"

Oliver wanted to strip out of his pants, they were too...too _something_. He didn't have the right term for it. It just wasn't... "Diggs?" Oliver brushed his hands over his arms trying to make the rising feeling of insanity go away.

Diggle moved closer, but didn't touch him. "Oliver, where are you right now?"

Oliver bit his lip, trying to control his breathing. He had to breathe. He had to...Oliver fell to the floor and Diggs was right there trying to say something to him. It was just noise. He was hearing it, but not understanding.

With a sharp shake of his head, Oliver scrambled away before he could forget that Diggs was post-Island and attack him. Oliver didn't want to hurt him or anyone else in his life. He didn't want to talk about what had happened because no one..._no one_ would understand.

"Oliver, I'm going to touch your arms."

Oliver blinked, trying to work out why Diggs was warning him. Then there were hot brands on him. Oliver bucked, trying to disloge them before they burnt him, and he ended up with more scars.

* * *

Diggle had thought they were just fighting. They did that a lot. It seemed to help Oliver to have a person to vent at, so Diggle made himself pick at things until Oliver could yell. This time, it was different. Oliver's expression had gone wooden far earlier in the fight than would be normal.

When Oliver had stripped his shirt off over his head, Diggle knew something was wrong with him. Oliver never used his body as a point or a distraction from a verbal argument. Diggle had been ready for a ill-thought out rant about Oliver's scars, when instead Oliver had just looked lost.

Oliver had started brushing his hands down his arms like he was trying to brush off dirt and Diggle's military training about PTSD popped into his head. Moving slowly, Diggle tried to get Oliver to look at him, but Oliver was lost in a flashback or panic attack. Maybe both at once.

Diggle tried to help Oliver focus on his breathing, but it didn't look like he was hearing him at all.

"Oliver, I'm going to touch your arms." Diggle moved deliberately slow and was barely touching Oliver's forearms when the man cried out like Diggle was killing him.

Oliver thrashed, trying to scramble away, yelling, tears staring to spill down his cheeks.

"Oliver!" Diggle caught him by the ankle and Oliver started begging under his breath, begging for mercy. Diggle pulled Oliver into a tight hug, clammy skin cold against his own hands, and held him tight as Oliver struggled. "I'm Diggle and I won't hurt you."

It took time, but Oliver's body finally sagged limply. Oliver was still panting, his breathing sounding harsh in the emptiness of the workspace.

* * *

Oliver's only saving grace was that he didn't come back to himself choking his mother this time. He rubbed his hand over his face and Diggle kept him in a tight embrace. "I'm fine."

Diggle snorted. "We both know when you are lying, sir."

"Still." Oliver tried to pull away, but Diggle wasn't letting go.

"Let me tell you a story."

"What? Like a bedtime story?" Oliver tried to make it sound as sarcastic as he could.

Diggle's arms tightened around him just a little. "Shut up and listen for a minute. There was this soldier and this soldier worked hard. They did their job, they...followed orders. After years in combat they went home. Only they were different and their homefront hadn't changed that much. The soldier felt unsafe everywhere because they knew, _knew_ they could die any moment. That nothing was safe."

Oliver frowned.

Diggle's arms loosened. "They didn't want to touch people, but they did it with deliberate intent. They didn't want to eat because nothing tasted right, but they did it to keep from worrying everyone. They were trying too hard to be what everyone needed or wanted that they didn't give them self time to relearn these things without the reactions they had."

"Are we talking about you?'

"No. I can turn off my hyper-vigilance when I want. They couldn't. You can't."

Oliver blinked. "What happened to them?"

Diggle let Oliver go and moved away a few feet. "They survived. That's what soldiers do. Its the how that's the important part."

"Okay?"

"Even though they didn't want to, they talked. To someone, to a stuffed animal, to a damn wall, they talked about how they felt, about what happened to them to someone or something."

Oliver pushed himself to his feet. "I don't need to talk."

Diggle looked sad. "Yeah, you do." He gestured towards the box that held Oliver's bow. "You've got scars and _things_ in your head that can hurt you. That do hurt you."

Oliver glared at his hands. "I _can't_ talk."

Diggle came closer and gently touched Oliver's elbow. "Cry or scream if you can't talk yet, but you need a release that you aren't getting now. I know you aren't sleeping and food trips you up. I've watched you try to think through if you are going to have to _touch_ people. You're losing the battle in your head, Oliver."

He glared at Diggle. "So, what? Are you going to try to sit on me until I tell you what happened? How stupid I was? How arrogant?"

Diggle shook his head. "I'm not going to sit on you. I'll listen. Even about how stupid or arrogant you think you were. I'll help you if you want."

Oliver frowned and hunched in on himself. "I just...I'm tired."

"Yeah, you are." Diggle's hand wasn't so hot this time when it touched him. "Come on, Oliver. Why don't we put down a few blankets on the floor and see if you can sleep. I'll keep watch if you want."

Oliver sank down on the spot of floor Diggle had maneuvered him to, it was warmer there due to the way the air currents moved in the warehouse. Diggle dropped blankets on him and unceremoniously wrapped Oliver in a couple of layers of blanket.

* * *

Diggle settled on a folded blanket, with his back to the wall he'd put them against. Oliver's head was just touching Diggle's outer thigh. Diggle watched Oliver as he finally started to warm back up from his shocky clamminess. "I fight with you to give you a safe place to vent."

Oliver's eyes stayed closed, but he pushed his head against Diggle's leg just a little. "I know."

Diggle mentally nodded and let his hand come to rest on Oliver's shoulder. "I thought you might."

Oliver's body settled as he relaxed slightly. "I should have died."

"You think that or are you repeating someone else's words about you?"

"Both."

Diggle's first thought was _Thea_ and his next was _Laurel_. "Do you want to die?"

Oliver's head lolled and he looked up bewildered. "What?"

Diggle smiled and patted Oliver's shoulder. "Nevermind. Go back to trying to sleep."

"Sleep is dangerous." Oliver's words were loose and slurred slightly as he fell asleep.

"Yeah, it can be." Diggle kept watch.

* * *

Oliver snapped out of his dream, nightmare, or whatever he was going to label that one, to find himself wrapped in three blankets, while a bleary eyed Diggle was leaning against the wall keeping watch.

Diggle smiled at him. "Morning."

Oliver felt like he'd been asleep for days. "Morning." He sat up and frowned. "You didn't sleep?"

"I said I'd watch over you." Diggle dropped his head to the left and then to the right, his neck making a loud cracking sound. "I need to stand down soon."

Oliver scrambled up and pulled on a shirt. "You can stand down, Diggle. I'm fine."

Diggle smiled and then yawned. "You're better than you were, yes, sir."

Oliver smiled at him.

* * *

After seeing Diggle to his home and an actual bed, Oliver took one of the arrowheads with him as he went out of the mansion beyond the treeline at the back of the property to the huge tree he had liked to climb as a boy.

Oliver settled in the groove made by two of the roots of the tree. "I...uh, I used to talk to you." He leaned his head back against the tree, the smooth spot still there, even though he had to wiggle a little further down into the groove to get it under the back of his head since he was taller than the last time he'd come as a child.

"You were my unconditional listener and of all the things Diggle said last night there was one that's true. Nothing is ever safe."

Oliver walked himself through relaxing his legs and arms, focusing on the arrowhead in his hands. "I don't react. I have to think about how I'm going to react and it takes just a fraction of a second too long. That's long enough for the other person to know, even if it is at an instinctual level, that I didn't follow the unspoken rules of social interaction. It makes them uncomfortable and in turn makes me tense..."

* * *

Diggle watched over the next week as Oliver became more in the now with less flashback blankness. Oliver seemed not to need as much fighting to keep from exploding at his family. Diggle wasn't expecting Oliver to talk to him or explain or even say thank you. It just wasn't the way Oliver had been trained growing up.

Which meant that when Oliver sat down across from him to eat a lunch of burgers and fries, Diggle was not expecting what came out of of the man's mouth.

"I wanted to thank you for the advice...about talking." Oliver looked up from his hands, right at Diggle. "I'm not fine."

Diggle passed him the ranch dressing for his fries, the weird man with his weird tastebuds. "I know, but you'll get there."


	2. Spine

Oliver leaned back against his tree. "I hate getting shot." He rubbed his thumb over the spot where he had been hit. Diggle had said his heart had stopped. Oliver knew he ought to feel something, but he just...didn't. It was like it didn't matter.

Oliver frowned and pressed against his newest scar with more force. "I should matter, right?" It didn't anger him or upset him that he didn't. He was just numb and he could tell that his family was noticing. That they were seeing his increasingly wooden expressions and the little niggles of worry were growing in their minds.

Oliver didn't need them thinking about it, about him. He needed them to just...stop worrying about him. To just let him be.

* * *

Diggle watched Oliver practice as Felicity did something on the computers. "Oliver."

Oliver ignored him and switched from the target dummy used for hand-to-hand to his bow and tennis balls.

Diggle sighed and threw tennis balls for Oliver to shoot as Felicity tried to look like she wasn't watching. Finally, Oliver wound down enough to put on his suit and go home for dinner with his family.

"He isn't alright, is he?"

Diggle frowned. "No. I don't think he's been okay in a long time, you know?"

She glanced up and him and then hunched her shoulders a little as she looked down at her keyboard. "Everyone forgets what it means to have been out of touch that long. They forget his tastebuds would be different. That he'd be more comfortable with the outdoors and hard surfaces than squishy pillows."

Diggle looked up the stairs that Oliver had went up minutes before. "He wasn't alone on that island."

"Well, duh." Felicity frowned at him. "Look, I get that people tend to believe what comes out of another person's mouth, but you have to admit Oliver...Oliver sucks at lying. He gets all stiff in the shoulders and he likes to make you look at his hands so you won't see his eyes flicker."

"And that equates into not being the only person on that island, how exactly?"

"He says he was alone like he says he's fine. Lying through his teeth, again." Felicity pulled up a picture of Oliver's scarred torso from what looked to Diggle like a medical file. "There's speculation in his file that some of these were the result of torture. They aren't new, Diggle."

"No, they aren't certainly aren't new."

* * *

Oliver frowned down at the dinner put in front of him. He caught his mother looking at him, and Thea was staring again, so Oliver smiled and put a spoonful of food into his mouth. He was sure it tasted good given the expressions on everyone else's faces, but Oliver couldn't taste it. Everything tasted like moss. It was annoying.

"Oliver, are you alright?'

Oliver smiled at his mother. "I'm fine, Mom."

She nodded. "Alright."

Thea was staring at him, so Oliver stared back until she ducked her head. Eating was easier if he focused on Thea's whining over how Oliver never sat down to dinner with them anymore.

"Thea, I'm here right now."

Thea rolled her eyes. "Only because you got roped into it by Mother."

Oliver shrugged. "i don't think it matters who got me involved." He watched his mother frown and the horrible suspicions about her that had lead him to getting shot started clamoring for space inside his head.

* * *

Tommy knew it'd be weird working for Oliver when it was like Oliver was a host for someone not-Oliver most of the time. He wasn't stupid, he'd known that Oliver would be changed, but Tommy wasn't sure he could handle how changed, so he sort of hadn't dealt with it at all.

He'd acted like Oliver was just back from a weekend thing. That it was all the same. What really worried Tommy was that Oliver had just gone along with it. He'd been stiff and uncomfortable and he'd just agreed to go to someplace with lots of people and noise right after being by himself for _years_. Yeah, it was not-Oliver standing there staring.

The staring. Tommy didn't know what to make of the staring. Oliver's gaze had never bored into people before. Not-Oliver's eyes were like mini lasers. Tommy was certain that if he could just get not-Oliver to stare at paper long enough it would catch fire.

Watching Oliver try to eat was the worst though. He'd stare at the food like it was going to disappear and then once he started trying to eat Oliver would get all not-Oliver really fast. Tommy had given up trying to get Oliver to eat.

Tommy went back to the plans for the nightclub. It was all he could do for Oliver that not-Oliver would accept.

* * *

Oliver stared down at the banana on the counter. It was weird knowing he could just eat whatever he wanted at anytime.

Oliver ignored Diggle standing near the doorway and poked at the banana. Nothing tasted like he remembered. Except ice cream. That at least was still properly cold and the temperature was enough of a shock he didn't get a chance to notice how different the taste was.

Turning, Oliver opened the fridge and just stared at everything as the cold air swirled out at him.

"Oliver?"

Closing the door, Oliver turned his head to look at Diggle. "What?"

Diggle cocked his head. "You alright?"

Oliver turned from the fridge and poked at the banana again. "I'm fine."

"Uh huh." Diggle moved into the room and took the banana from Oliver's reach.

Oliver suppressed the urge to snatch it back. "What?"

Diggle peeled the banana and held out a piece to him. "I haven't seen you eat today."

Oliver frowned at the banana and then pulled it from Diggle's fingers. It was too soft or squishy. Something. Oliver chewed and swallowed anyway. He shrugged. "Just not hungry I guess."

Diggle nodded. "Sure." He held out another bite of banana. "Maybe you should eat anyway."

Oliver took the banana and ate it. "I'm fine."

"You say that a lot, sir."

Oliver smiled and turned towards the dinning room. "I have to eat with the family tonight. I promised Thea."

Diggle backed away. "Of course."

* * *

Oliver didn't know what was worse. His mother frowning at him or Thea staring like he was going to crack any moment. Oliver looked down at his plate again. "I'm just not that hungry, Thea."

She huffed. "You ate like three bites, Ollie."

He couldn't explain it. The spices were just too much. Too _there_. Oliver nudged his plate with his thumb. "I'm fine."

Thea huffed and their mother frowned at him. Oliver ignored them and tried to wash the taste off his tongue with more water, which made them both frown at him.

Oliver gave up. "Please excuse me." He hurried out before either of them could protest too loudly. Diggle followed behind him.

* * *

Oliver rubbed the tree's root with his fingertips as he drew measured even breaths. "I can't trust anyone. It just hurts too much."

The tree's leaves rustled as the breeze picked up.

"Okay, so I have Diggle and sort of have Felicity. I just..." Oliver levered himself out of his spot to stand looking up at his tree. "I can't even trust my own family. Thea..._hates_ me sometimes." Oliver patted the tree. "I need to go."

* * *

Oliver quit beating the target dummy as Diggle moved closer. "What?"

He held out a pouch. "See if you can down this."

Oliver took it and looked it over. "Why?"

"Oliver, I can see how trying to eat the food your family is used to would upset your stomach. Thing is you have to eat."

Oliver sighed. "Diggs, I'm not going to starve to death."

"No, you aren't because you are going to try the pouch I just gave you."

Oliver turned it over again. "Pureed peaches."

"Organic. Not additives. It shouldn't taste like anything but peaches."

Oliver opened the top and sniffed. It did smell like peaches. He squeezed the pouch and blinked when a blurp of it splashed out to land on his hand. Oliver licked at it and blinked. "Uh."

"Bad?"

Oliver squirted some into his mouth. He shook his head. "No. Weird, not bad."

Diggle nodded and threw another pouch at him. "This one is apple and grapes."

Oliver caught the pouch and looked at Diggle. "I eat you know."

"Sure." Diggle pointed at the pouches. "Now you'll just eat a little more."

Oliver sighed and turned the second pouch over as he sucked on the first.

* * *

Oliver knew that talking to his tree wasn't helping enough. He was getting jittery and the last time he'd gone to sleep jittery he'd woken up to being in the middle of attempting to kill his own mother.

He fought with Diggle, but it felt like Diggs was giving him a pass. Handling him with kids gloves. Oliver didn't need sympathy, he needed to get on with his mission to clean up his city.


	3. Fletching

Tommy stared out across the nightclub's crowd. His wrist was throbbing. The Oliver he knew was truly dead, but Tommy had helped put him in the position to have to help the crazy-ass Helena. He turned his drink with his uninjured hand.

Oliver came up close with that stiffness that said he didn't know what to do, but he was going to do something anyway. "Tommy."

Tommy smiled at him to keep Oliver from thinking he was still pissed at him. "Oliver."

"How is your arm?"

Tommy shrugged. "It'll heal." He turned to cover what they were saying from anyone watching. "Busy with...things?"

Oliver tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "Little bit, yeah."

Tommy blew out a breath. "I shouldn't have called you a murderer."

"You were right." Oliver frowned down at his hands. "I...Tommy, I wasn't alone on the island."

He grabbed Oliver's arm. "Come on. Let's go somewhere with less people."

* * *

Oliver sat down next to Tommy on the bench next to the roof access door. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it because it wasn't...good."

Tommy leaned back against the building. "No, I get that. I get that you'd want to leave it behind you, but Oliver...killing the men that kidnapped us? The people you've killed since then? What's all of that?"

Oliver sighed. "I made a promise to my father. He...died giving me a chance to live. I can't just let him down."

Tommy frowned and looked out over the roof. "So, what? You go around scaring everyone...Wait. Wait a minute. You attacked your own mother! Oliver!"

Oliver put his head in his hands. "There's some things that don't add up. I was trying to find out what she knew." He looked at Tommy. "She shot me."

"Well, good for her." Tommy rubbed his forehead. "No, sorry. I just..." He threw up his hands. "Oliver, what the hell happened to you?"

Oliver grimaced. "I...survived."

Tommy sighed. "Yeah as what? As who? I didn't expect you to be the same. I was really surprised when you said you wanted to go out after you got back, but Oliver you are so different that I feel like sometimes you are Oliver and sometimes not-Oliver. Do you know what I mean?"

Oliver nodded. "I get it." He reached under the bench and pulled out an arrow. "I'm not trying to kill people just to kill. I'm not...I'm trying not to be too crazy."

Tommy took the arrow from him and looked it over. "This is all black. I thought yours were green?"

"That one is from the Dark Archer that nearly killed me."

Tommy turned it over in his hand. "You nearly died? How many times have you almost died since you've been back?"

Oliver shrugged. "A few."

"A few? Oliver." Tommy put the black arrow back. "Oliver, I don't know how to help you."

"Just...keep talking to me? Please?"

Tommy sighed. "Fine, fine." He clapped Oliver on the shoulder. "I'm still not listening to any of it. I just...can't. Okay?"

"Fair enough."

* * *

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as not-Oliver told him 'fair enough' because it wasn't fair. He was Oliver's best friend. He should be the one person Oliver could talk to, but it was just...He wasn't sure he could stand knowing what had changed Oliver so completely.

* * *

Diggle wasn't sure what to make of Tommy sidling up to him as Oliver schmoozed at the club. "Sir?"

"I, ah, wanted to ask you to do me a favor."

Diggle lifted his chin slightly. "What is the favor?"

Tommy gulped and held onto his elbow with his other hand. "Oliver. He needs help. I can't...I can't listen to what happened to him from the island." He gestured to Diggle. "I thought...He seems to trust you and you were military, I'm sure. So...could you listen to him?"

Diggle blinked. "If he'd talk to me, of course, I'd listen."

Tommy huffed. "I just...he's not him now. And I don't think I can know what he went through. I can hardly stand to deal with the not-Oliver as it is."

Diggle put his hand on Tommy's back. "Sir, I'll watch over him. Alright?"

Tommy nodded.

* * *

Oliver fired another arrow at the tennis ball Felicity had thrown. "You could throw them harder, you know."

She rolled her eyes and the next ball bounced funny. "That better?"

"More interesting." Oliver struck that one as Diggle came down the stairs. "Diggs, would you tell Felicity that she can actually throw the balls for me?"

"Felicity, hit him in the head with one and see if he can shot it."

Oliver ducked. "Don't."

Felicity froze with her arm half pulled back to throw. "Why not? I can't hurt you with a tennis ball, Oliver."

Oliver straightened up and sat the bow down. "My reflexes aren't always my friend, Felicity." He turned towards Diggs. "What's up?"

Diggle fidgeted with the button on his suit jacket. "Your friend Tommy just asked me, as a favor, to listen to anything you wanted to talk about because he says he can't do it."

Oliver frowned and touched the bow. "I couldn't talk to him even if he could listen."

Diggs sat down next to Felicity and took a tennis ball from her. "Why not? Throw."

Oliver waited for the first bounce before picking up the bow and hitting the ball with an arrow. "He wouldn't understand."

Diggle threw another ball and nudged Felicity. "Throw one right after I throw." He eyed Oliver. "How do you know that if you don't actually say anything, Oliver?"

Oliver fired arrows after each ball. "Do think think Tommy would understand warzone battles if you tried to tell him about it?"

Diggle sighed. "It isn't the same thing..."

Oliver pulled his quiver off and dropped it with the bow on the workbench. He came over and leaned against the desk Felicity had claimed. "Diggle, what do you think I did for five years?"

Diggle frowned. "Got a lot of scars you didn't give yourself."

Oliver ran a hand over his face. "Diggs..."

"Look, Oliver, we aren't stupid. You aren't dumb. So tell me exactly where in this you want me to believe that you were alone on that island. Tell me how you want me to swallow that you ended up with scars from torture and have me believe it was, what, wild animals? Is that your current story for it?"

Oliver stepped into Diggle's personal space. "I don't have a story for it! I don't talk about it!"

"I know!"

Oliver whirled around and hunched over, his hands on his thighs as he struggled to just breathe. "Just go. Out."

* * *

Felicity glanced up at Diggle, who wasn't moving. "Uhm. Look, I hate to get into the middle of the macho pissing match you two have started, but maybe, you could go about it a different way?"

They both looked at her.

She shrugged. "Maybe start with just an answer to a small question?" She made a face at Oliver. "What was your first meal on the island? Was it coconut?"

Oliver smiled ruefully and sat down on the floor right where he'd been standing. "No. I...had to kill a bird. I hadn't killed anything before. Never with my bare hands."

Diggle squeezed her shoulder as he went to Oliver. He pulled Oliver's head in to lean against Diggle's knee. "Were you able to cook it?"

Oliver closed his eyes. "I roasted it over a fire. At that moment it was the best thing I'd ever eaten, but I still felt really guilty that I killed the bird to eat it."

Felicity rolled her chair over and touched Oliver's shoulder. "See? I totally would have used a rock."

Oliver snorted and blinked really fast for a few moments. "I wasn't allowed a rock."

Felicity and Diggle exchanged looks over Oliver's bent head.


End file.
